


Finer Things

by spinninginfinity



Category: The West Wing
Genre: F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-16
Updated: 2013-03-16
Packaged: 2017-12-05 12:16:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/723200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spinninginfinity/pseuds/spinninginfinity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Josh and Donna visit London.</p>
<p><i>‘You’re such a</i> tourist<i>,’ he throws back at her, turning his head to watch her as she digs around in her bag.</i><br/><i>‘We’re both tourists,’ she says. ‘I’m just better at it than you are.’</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Finer Things

**Author's Note:**

  * For [notabadday](https://archiveofourown.org/users/notabadday/gifts).



‘Wasn’t that fun?’ Donna asks brightly, putting the day’s purchases down inside the door of their hotel room and taking off her coat. ‘I didn’t know any of that stuff about Andy Warhol. Looking at his work really made me… _feel_ something. Did you think so, too?’

Josh flops gracelessly forward onto the bed. ‘Donna,’ he mumbles, ‘I can barely feel my own feet anymore.’

She grins, kicking her shoes off. ‘You’re such a wimp.’

‘You’re such a _tourist_ ,’ he throws back at her, turning his head to watch her as she digs around in her bag.

‘We’re both tourists,’ she says. ‘I’m just better at it than you are.’

He can’t argue there. It didn’t come as a surprise at all that Donna equipped herself for their trip to London with reams of information she’d researched for weeks on the Internet and four different guidebooks, that she perused them while walking too slowly in the middle of the sidewalk, that she insisted on listening to every audio guide, on reading every plaque next to every artifact in every museum. It feels to Josh like there are no bus tours they haven’t taken, no landmarks they haven’t photographed, no slightly differing “I heart London” t-shirts left to buy. He’s getting concerned about their luggage allowance and they’re precisely thirty-five hours into their weeklong vacation.

Of course, he’s always openly complained about her boundless enthusiasm for stuff like this and secretly (or not-so-secretly, the last few years) found it endearing. Still, he thinks that each of the city’s Tube stations is probably much like the other 269, and he’d like to squeeze in some time before they go home where they can just relax.

‘We could do Buckingham Palace tomorrow.’ Donna settles in an armchair and opens the guidebook she’s retrieved from her bag. ‘Maybe we’ll meet the Queen.’

‘Yeah, that seems possible.’

She narrows her eyes at him. ‘Don’t snark me. It’s totally possible. We have a friend who could arrange it, remember?’

‘Would that be Lord John Marbury, who insists on calling me “Arthur”?’

She sighs. ‘It’s a quirk, Josh. He’s eccentric.’

‘He’s insane.’

‘Maybe a little,’ she concedes. ‘He could still get us in to meet the Queen. Or Prince William.’

‘Prince William’s married,’ Josh points out. He thinks about it. ‘ _You’re_ married.’

She grins at him before turning back to the book. ‘I thought we could walk along the South Bank later. We can pick up dinner from those stalls we passed on the way through earlier and sit by the river. And we should definitely go on the London Eye before we leave, though maybe not tonight because it’ll be getting dark soon and we want to be able to see everything, and not tomorrow, either, because I think it’s going to rain. Ooh, and we should see the Tower of London. It’s kind of expensive, I’ve heard, but I think it’ll be worth it, don’t you?’

‘Maybe tomorrow we could take a break from the touristy stuff for a while,’ he suggests. ‘Get a late breakfast, go relax by the pool… come back to bed.’ He waggles his eyebrows at her.

She fixes him with a look of mock-disapproval. ‘Are you telling me you’re willing to pass up the chance to see where Anne Boleyn was imprisoned before her execution in order to have sex?’

‘I—yeah. Difficult though I found that decision.’

‘Anne Boleyn was a very interesting woman.’

He smiles. ‘I find you much more interesting.’

She sets her book down and crosses the room to him, sitting on the bed and catching one of his hands in hers. ‘You know, flattery will get you nowhere.’

‘I’ve seen evidence to the contrary.’

The look in her eyes is warm and challenging. ‘Anne Boleyn was incredibly beautiful.’

‘Uh huh.’ He brings their joined hands against his lips, kissing her knuckles gently. ‘So are you.’

She lies back on the bed, a smile playing around her mouth, and turns onto her side so she’s facing him. ‘You can tell me, you know. If I’m dragging you places you don’t want to go.’

‘I do want to go,’ he says. ‘We’re probably only going to be here once; we should see everything you want to see— _and_ I want to see,’ he adds, before she can say anything. ‘But you really are better at the tourist thing than me. And what I feel when I’m looking at a few bits of colored paper stuck on a canvas is dumb for not pursuing a talent I first showed back in kindergarten.’

‘That wasn’t Andy Warhol. Andy Warhol did the soup cans.’

‘I thought those were terrible, too.’

‘Philistine,’ she says, shoving him in the shoulder.

He frowns at her. ‘Well, so, whose was the colored paper?’

‘Henri Matisse,’ Donna replies, with exaggerated French pronunciation.

‘That bastard.’

‘And it wasn’t colored paper; he painted the paper first and then cut it up.’

‘You’re right, that totally makes it art.’

‘You have no appreciation for the finer things in life,’ she sniffs.

He pushes himself upright and pounces on her, his energy suddenly restored. She squeaks in surprise but responds eagerly when he kisses her, her hands framing his face.

‘I have appreciation for the finer things,’ he mumbles against her mouth. 

She gives a contented hum and then pushes him over onto his back, following him so that she’s on top.

‘Want me to prove it to you?’ he continues, fingers roaming down her back. ‘Or do you want to go walking along the bank of whatever?’

‘The South Bank.’

‘Yeah. Your choice.’

Donna doesn’t respond for a moment, punctuating the silence with a couple of sweet, chaste kisses to the corner of his mouth. ‘Tough one,’ she says eventually. ‘I’m going to have to think about this.’

‘Okay. For how long, exactly?’ he asks, voice strained.

‘Oh, I’m going to have to think long and hard,’ she murmurs, pressing her hips against his. ‘Are you… thinking… hard?’ She shifts again.

‘You’re a terrible person,’ he informs her, drawing her head down to kiss her again.

‘Uh huh, I know.’

‘You make terrible puns.’

‘I make very good puns.’

‘Yeah?’ He grins, pulling her hips more firmly against his. ‘Have you made your decision yet?’

‘I have,’ she whispers. She kisses him slowly, coaxing his mouth open and then abruptly climbs off him, tone businesslike again. ‘South Bank. Let’s go.’

‘I—what?’ he sputters, scrambling up after her. ‘That is absolutely not the decision I thought you were going to make.’

‘I’m full of surprises,’ she says breezily, heading into the bathroom.

‘Donna!’

‘Unless you really don’t want to. But I don’t know, Josh. I think you might find it’s an enjoyable evening. Nice food, great entertainment…’ She reaches for her lip balm, rubbing it on slowly with her finger, meeting his eye as she adds, ‘You proving your appreciation for the finer things in life later, after we’ve both had time to give it some real thought.’

‘I see.’ He comes to stand in the bathroom doorway. ‘You’re being _strategic_.’

‘Yes.’ She fluffs her hair a bit, checking her reflection, and then squeezes past him.

‘Well, I hope it pays off.’

Over her shoulder, Donna gives him a look that says, _please_. ‘Oh, it will.’

As it turns out, she’s correct.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Feedback is welcome and much appreciated!


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